Tales of the Once and Future King

by Anthony Marchetta

  “‘I name you liar, robber, and murderer, Cororuc,’ he said, his eyes hard as he stared at his foe. ‘Stand and fight me here, or flee and save your rotten skin. But if you flee, you must never return or disturb the old widow again.’

  “Cororuc dared to look Trahearn in the eye only once, and he saw there only his death should he stand his ground. With a snarl, he drew his knife, but then hurled it at Trahearn’s head. The young Knight batted it aside with his shield, even as the robber turned on his heel and fled, scampering into the woods.

  “Trahearn watched him flee, his sword still in his hand, his eyes narrowed as he gazed at the surrounding woods and fields, searching for his foes. For despite his words, Trahearn knew Cororuc for the base and ignoble man that he was, and knew that he would not honor the bond that Trahearn had put upon him.

  “Finally, he turned back to the hut, where the old woman watched from the doorway. ‘I have pressing business in the south, near the Saxon Shore,’ he told her, ‘but I think that I might stay here for another day. There is much that I might do to help you before I go.’ She said nothing, but only bowed gratefully. She greatly feared Cororuc’s return.

  “Stripping off his armor, though he kept his weapons close at hand, Trahearn set out to do what he could to repair the leaking roof and patch the worst cracks in the daub. Always his eyes strayed to the surrounding lands, watching for his enemies.

  “As night fell, he drew water from the well and watered his horse and the pig, before washing away the dirt of the day’s labors. He once again shared his provisions with the crofter’s widow before they retired for the night.

  “When he arose and donned his armor the next morning, there were three men standing a stone’s throw outside the hut. They were dirty and ragged, with rusty axes and knives in their hands. He knew at once that Cororuc had sent them. In fact, he had been expecting them.

  “He stood tall and straight in the door, the morning sun gleaming off his mail and his helm like fire. He said not a word, but raised his sword in salute.

  “With a wordless roar, as if to steel their courage to face the shining figure who denied them, all three of the ragged outlaws charged.

  “Trahearn stepped to meet them, deflecting one man aside to stumble and fall to the ground with a blow of his shield, while his sword flashed in the morning sun to crash down upon the head of the next. The dead man fell onto the last brigand, who staggered and fell.

  “Stepping back to the doorway, Trahearn faced the first man, who had come back to his feet and swung his axe wildly at the Knight’s head. He ducked beneath the blow and ran the man through before dragging his blade clear and pivoting to meet the third man.

  “That one looked at his two companions, one dead, the other dying, then dropped his axe and fled.

  “Trahearn waited until he was gone, then turned to the man he had stabbed. He gave him water, pillowed his head on his own cloak, and prayed over him until he breathed no more. Then he buried both brigands some way from the hut.

  “‘My errand in the south is still pressing,’ he told the widow, ‘but there is still much I might do to help you. I think I might spare another day.’ For he still expected Cororuc to return.

  “Once again, he worked about the croft, mending what he could, and kept watch. In the evening, he supped and prayed with the widow, before she went to her straw tick and he to the floor.

  “At the dawn of the third day, he once again prayed and donned his mail. When he stepped out of the hut, his sword and shield in hand, he faced Cororuc and fully twenty men, all as ragged and filthy as the three he had faced the day before, armed with spears, axes, and bills.

  “‘It need not have ended this way, warrior,’ Cororuc called out.

  “‘Indeed not,’ Trahearn answered. ‘Had you let the widow be, as I bid, you would have lived far longer. Come now, dogs, and meet your judgement.’

  “With a shout, they charged him, all twenty men at once. But he held his ground, his back to the hut, and laid about him with his flashing sword. He laid the brigands down in heaps, each blow reaping another robber’s life. Yet he was badly outnumbered, and soon his mail was in tatters, and he bled from many wounds.

  “The robbers fell back, and he leaned on his sword, surrounded by the bodies of his foes. His breath heaved from his chest as he watched Cororuc and his remaining robbers. He said nothing more. There was nothing more to be said.

  “But Cororuc knew that his men’s courage was faltering. ‘Look!’ he exclaimed. ‘The interloper weakens and bleeds! One more charge will finish him!’ And he suited actions to words, lifting his pitted axe and running at Trahearn.

  “Cororuc was a better fighter than his rabble, and their weapons clashed again and again. Stroke and counterstroke fell on blade, haft, and shield, and the fields echoed with the noise of their blows. Three times they fell back from one another, gasping with weariness and bleeding from their many wounds, only to crash together again three times.

  “On the third clash, Cororuc swung low, and his axe slid beneath Trahearn’s shield, to bite deeply into his leg, even as Trahearn’s sword crashed down upon Cororuc’s unarmored head. The robber’s spirit fled to its final judgement, even as his men fled to the woods in panic at the sight of their leader’s death.

  “Trahearn knew he had taken his death wound at the last. Looking up to Heaven, he prayed his act of contrition, before he lay down and died.”

  Taliesin fell silent. Ercwlff had been listening intently, his eyes afar off as he pictured the valiant battles of the Knight, but now he started, realizing that the story was over. “But, he did not find and battle Bordan!” he protested. “I thought you said that he was a great Knight!”

  “He was,” Taliesin replied mildly. “Can you truly not see why?”

  “But he died for nothing!” Ercwlff protested. “He died fighting some ragged robbers over a crofter’s hut!” When Taliesin simply looked at him with a raised eyebrow, he suddenly had an idea. “The old woman!” he exclaimed. “She was a princess magically disguised, or a saint!” He straightened ever so slightly, proud that he had figured it out.

  But Taliesin only shook his head. “No, she was no princess,” he replied. “She was exactly what she appeared to be; a poor crofter’s widow. And a rather ugly one, at that. As for whether she was a saint?” He rubbed his chin. “It is possible, certainly, though I know of no miracles attached to her name.”

  “She died?” Ercwlff asked, even more confused and upset.

  “Indeed,” Taliesin said. “That very night, she stumbled and struck her head on the hearth. She never woke.”

  Ercwlff threw his hands in the air. “Then Trahearn’s death becomes even more meaningless!” he exclaimed. “He fought and died for a woman who only died the same day anyway!”

  “Meaningless?” Taliesin said, a stern note entering his voice. “Do you really think so?”

  Ercwlff racked his mind for the answer, growing somewhat desperate that he did not understand the bard’s tale. He knew that it was a test, and one that he feared he was failing. “The pig!” he exclaimed. “The pig was enchanted, or, or, it was an Oracular Pig, that could speak prophecy! That was why it was so valuable! Trahearn must have known it, somehow, when he entered the hut the first night.”

  Taliesin only shook his head sadly, looking down at the grass. “No, the pig was only a pig. In time, it pulled itself loose and ran off into the woods to root for acorns. I imagine it is still there, unless a hunter or a wolf took it.”

  He looked up and met Ercwlff’s eyes, and there was an icy fire in his gaze. “Turn around, son of Cadwgan,” he said, his voice deep and ringing with authority. “Return to your father’s house. If you do not understand the lesson of the Tale of Trahearn, then you are not ready to seek Knighthood in Camulodunum.”

  His head hanging, Ercwlff rose slowly and untied Aderyn Ddu, fighting back tears of rage and disappointment. He had failed before he had even reached his destination, just like Trahearn. He di
d not think of gainsaying the bard; one angered any bard at one’s peril, let alone Arthur’s bard.

  As he swung into the saddle, however, Taliesin called out to him. “Should you discover the meaning of my tale, young Ercwlff,” he said, “return here in a year and a day. Then we shall see if you are ready.”

  Ercwlff felt the bright blue eyes of the bard on his back as he rode away.

  On the eleventh day after Pentecost, the next year, an older, more weathered Ercwlff rode along the same road. The weather was not as fine, this time. There was a chill bite to the breeze, and clouds scudded across the sky. The sun still shone dappled gold on the land beneath the puffs of white and gray, though, and Ercwlff did not see the weather as an omen. He rode with hope in his heart.

  His arms and armor were perhaps more worn than they had been a year and a day before. He bore scars on his arms that he had not that past day. He hoped that he bore greater wisdom along with them.

  Taliesin was waiting at the crossroads, beneath the same elm tree, with the same simple repast laid out beside him. While Ercwlff was stronger and larger than he had been the last time, the bard seemed to have shrunken. There was a sickly cast to his skin, and his eyes were now as sunken as his cheeks. The fire in them was no less bright, however.

  “Hail, honored bard,” Ercwlff called. “May I join you?”

  “Certainly, young Ercwlff,” Taliesin called jovially, though his voice was thinner and threadier than it had been. “Come and share my dinner.”

  This time Ercwlff held a sack from his saddle bows as he dropped to the ground and let Aderyn Ddu graze. He opened it to draw out two apples, wrinkled from a winter in the barrel, but still sound, and a wheel of cheese. He set them down next to the bard’s bread and beer, and sat on the ground across from the other man.

  They gave thanks to God for His bounty, and ate. Unlike the last time, there was a quiet contentedness to the meal. Ercwlff felt a faint anxiety about the discussion to come, but his prideful impatience from the last time he had sat there was gone.

  “Well, then,” Taliesin said, brushing the last crumbs from his tunic, “what have you learned since last we spoke, son of Cadwgan?”

  Ercwlff had not asked how Taliesin knew his name or his father, even though he had, to his shame, realized after he had departed that he had never properly introduced himself. He did not ask now.

  “I believe I know the lesson of the Tale of Trahearn,” he said carefully. He took a deep breath and met the bard’s bright gaze.

  “It did not matter that the widow was only a poor widow who did not even live to enjoy the life that Trahearn had sacrificed his own to save,” he said. “It did not matter that the pig was only a pig. It did not matter that Trahearn died before he did great deeds of song and legend, fighting Bordan. It only mattered that he was a Knight, and that the old woman was in need. A Knight may not choose his quests based on the glory of this world. It was right in the eyes of God, and therefore it was his duty. So, he did it, unto his last breath.”

  He waited for a moment, hardly daring to breathe. But Taliesin smiled widely, and Ercwlff knew he had answered rightly.

  “Very good, son of Cadwgan,” Taliesin said. But he did not say more.

  Ercwlff swallowed. “And I know the other part of the riddle,” he said softly.

  The bard raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?” he replied.

  Ercwlff nodded, hardly daring to meet the bard’s eyes now. “I know why you told me the tale in the first place,” he said. “Because of my pride. Not my boastfulness, but my pride. For I was rude to you.” He forced himself to look the bard in the eye. “Not to Taliesin, the Court Bard of King Arthur. But I was a nobleman seeking to be a Knight, and yet I was rude to a poor man who offered to share what little he had. Because I thought myself above him.” He hung his head then, having given words to his shame.

  But Taliesin nodded, and reached out to pat his shoulder. “Indeed, you have learned much in a year and a day, son of Cadwgan,” he said quietly. “‘Many who are first, shall be last, and the last shall be first.’” He stood, looming over the young man suddenly. Putting his fingers to his lips, he whistled, and a brilliant white horse trotted out of the trees from across the road.

  “Come, young Ercwlff,” he said. “Let us ride to Camulodunum. You have many trials ahead before Arthur will make you a Knight, but I think that now, at last, you are ready to ask it of him.”

  CHAPTER 3

  At the end of the story, it was as if a spell was broken. It took Maddie a moment to remember where she was: That she was not a member of King Arthur’s court, listening to the songs of his bard, but an exhausted prisoner of Lord Brand, ruler of a wet and muddy forest kingdom. She stared at Fox in amazement, who had slumped over, almost passed out. He raised his head weakly and gave a small smile.

  Maddie spoke first. “What... how…”

  “I told you. I’m the new Taliesin. His role in Arthur’s court is my role now. So I ask you the same question Taliesin asked Ercwlff, son of Cadwgan: Do you understand the lesson of the Tale of Trahearn, and why he rescued the crone from the knight?”

  Maddie didn’t understand why he was asking, but the story had a visible effect on Lance. He sat up straight and stared at Fox, his eyes blazing. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly. “Who are you to ask such things? I know what it means to be a Knight! To be a hero. What is the purpose of these questions?”

  “If you do not understand the purpose of the question,” said Fox, “Then you have much to learn about being a knight.”

  And to the astonishment of all four of them he laid down where he sat and started snoring quietly. Maddie blinked, shrugged, and put her head down, rolling her small jacket behind her head as a pillow. Within seconds all but Lance were asleep. He stared at the dimly lit flames for hours, trying to decode the Riddle of Taliesin. It was quite a long time before he could rest, and the meaning of the Riddle followed him into his dreams.

  Lord Elwood Brand managed to get an uneasy sleep, but not a long one; he woke up when the sun was just beginning to rise. He lived in a small hut hidden among the trees, and when he awoke he walked outside and looked on the sleeping prisoners. He was there for only a moment before Fox walked up beside him. Brand looked at him. He had long gotten used to Fox’s strange ability be exactly where people needed him to be. “What did you find out?”

  “Lance and Gavin are who I said they were. Lance is a warrior, probably the greatest the island has ever seen. Gavin is more guarded, but almost as skilled and incredibly loyal.”

  “And the other two?” asked Brand.

  “One of them is named Bennett Warwick. He’s smart—very smart. Almost certainly the smartest person any of us will ever meet. And antisocial. He came to look for someone, and to protect Maddie. So he won’t run if she doesn’t.”

  “Maddie... the girl?”

  Fox looked thoughtful. “Maddie Calvin. She is... interesting. I don’t really know what to make of her. But we can trust her word. And she won’t abandon her friends.”

  Brand raised his eyebrows at him but didn’t comment. He didn’t know and didn’t ask how Fox had gotten this information. It was just another one of Fox’s strange abilities, and he had learned not to question it.

  “She’s looking for someone too. A different person than Bennett.”

  “So we have two skilled fighters, a boy who is ‘smart’, and a girl that you ‘don’t know what to make of’. How do you expect me to make decisions based on that?”

  “Lord Brand,” Fox answered, “I promise you, these four are your best chance at rescuing Lady Isabella. How often am I wrong?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” said Brand, looking at the captives. “You have visions from times long ago and long after ours. There’s no way to tell if they’re true or not.”

  “This is true,” Fox agreed. “But you’ve trusted me before, and I’ve saved your life. Maddie and Bennett I did not foresee, but Lance and Gavin... they are the Knights o
f Avalon. I see it. They will save Britain, if Britain can be saved. And,” he looked at Brand pointedly, “if anyone could help us, it would be them.”

  Brand scanned their sleeping faces: Lance’s unevenly shaved stubble, Gavin’s unkempt brown hair, Maddie and Bennett’s patched clothing. “It’s just hard to believe they could be the ones. What exactly did you see in this vision?”

  Fox looked at Lance. His eyes were piercing and intense. “I cannot explain.”

  “This is important, Fox. Try.”

  Fox sighed. “Okay. I saw dragons. Two dragons. They flew together over the island of Britain, and they breathed fire... fire like you have never seen before. The heat was almost unbearable. They torched everything in their path.”

  Brand blinked. “So we should trust them because of this?”

  Fox shook his head. “No. Not because of this. Because of the fire. Everything it touched Brand... it grew.”

  “Grew? You mean the fire got bigger?”

  “No. I mean that the land grew. Grass rippled from the earth like waves in the sea. Flowers burst forth from the ground. The heat, the dust... it disappeared. And after that...”

  Fox stopped and stared into the distance. “After that I cannot describe. The words do not exist. Not yet. But you can trust them, Lord Brand.”

  Brand made a point to look Fox in the eyes when he made his next statement. “Just know: This is on your head, Fox. If these people are not who you say they are, you are as guilty as them.”

  Fox shook his head. “No. It is never on my head. It is always on yours.” The statement was made with no threat behind it; it was a fact. “But I promise you this: If I am wrong, I will leave and take my people with me, and you will never see us again.”

  The sun had properly risen. The four travelers had been awake for at least an hour, consulting. Fox looked at them, then looked at Brand. “Go talk to them. They’re ready.”